


As The Deer

by yours_eternally



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘Pelle!’ he yells, knowing no one's going to hear him out here anyway. ‘Pelle! Come back in the fucking house!’ he shouts again. Silence is his only answer. Øystein's flooded with a hot, panicked feeling, and wondering if, in that moment, he is truly alone.Øystein's looking for Pelle in the woods.
Relationships: Euronymous | Øystein Aarseth/Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	As The Deer

‘Where is he? Øystein?’ Jørn asks, nudging his legs with his boot. Øystein rolls his eyes towards him but doesn’t otherwise move. He’s folded up in the corner of the couch, cigarette dangling from his fingers, all elbows and angles. He’s debating whether to pretend he hadn’t heard. It's barely 11.30 and Jørn's already pissing him off. Besides, the music is loud enough to shatter glass. It’s a party after all. 

‘I don’t know,’ Øystein says at last, giving him his best sneering closed-lipped smile. ‘Why don’t you go and fucking check?’ Jørn kicks him again. It stings and Øystein snarls. 

‘Fuck off, fucker,’ Øystein growls, sitting up to kick him back. 

‘Just go-’ Jørn says, shaking his head, ‘he’s your pet, man. Go and get him.’ 

‘Fucker,’ Øystein says again but gets up with a grunt. He’s already been roused from his contemplation, and he guesses he hasn’t seen Pelle in an hour. He takes a drag of his cigarette only to find it gone out. He flicks it, pissed, and stomps out of the room into the damp evening. Øystein has no doubt he’ll be outside; with people in the house he won’t have retreated up to his room. 

He swears under his breath as he gets outside. Cursing the cold. Cursing Pelle. Cursing whatever godforsaken reason he was stumbling around the fucking woods in the pitch black night. 

‘Pelle!’ he yells, knowing no one's going to hear him out here anyway. ‘Pelle! Come back in the fucking house!’ he shouts again. Silence is his only answer. Øystein's flooded with a hot, panicked feeling, and wondering if, in that moment, he is truly alone. 

‘PELLE!’ he shouts at the top of his lungs. It comes out louder and rawer than he’d expected, echoing through the trees around him. He listens to his voice bounce back and is just about to shout again when he hears a laugh. His skin prickles. He twists. He can hear his breathing and feel his heart hammering in his chest. 

‘Why’re you shouting, huh?’ Pelle says, appearing without a sound. He’s so pale he practically glows in the dark; face white with his long blond hair hanging down nearly to his waist. Øystein can’t help but stare at him as he approaches. 

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Øystein snaps, fear, and the icy night sharpening his voice. But Pelle laughs again as he trots past him. He’s holding something. Øystein rolls his eyes; probably another bird. 

‘Why’d you come out here, huh?’ Pelle asks as he crouches setting the object on the ground. Øystein sighs, watching him in silence. Pelle’s bent, busy over whatever he’s doing, so Øystein moves over to him putting a hand on top of his head. 

‘I came out to get you,’ he says, tucking his hair back behind his ear. ‘Come back inside, Pelle. It’s cold.’ 

‘The ground’s colder,’ he says heavily. Øystein snorts at him. It’s too fucking cold and it’s too fucking dark for Pelle’s circle of life, ashes to ashes bullshit. 

‘C’mon, bring it back to the house,’ Øystein says, nudging his shoulder. It’s not like another goddamned dead bird is going to make the smell any worse. Pelle heaves out a sigh but gets to his feet, hands mercifully empty. 

Øystein steps back gesturing for Pelle to go ahead of him, trusting him to know his way back in the dark better than he did. But he doesn’t move, so Øystein takes a step catching his wrist to pull the other after him instead. 

‘Why’d you come out here?’ he asks again, letting Øystein pull him along. 

‘I told you,’ Øystein says, stepping carefully, ‘-to get you. Jørn’s says you’re my puppy so I have to take care of you.’ 

‘I don’t like that,’ Pelle says, stopping. Øystein groans.

‘It’s just a joke, lighten up,’ he says, ‘Pelle, c’mon I’m freezing my balls off.’ But he doesn’t move. ‘Oh, you want me to drag you, fucker?’ Øystein says, turning back and making as though he’s going to tackle him off his feet. Pelle laughs, yelping and stumbling back when Øystein takes a swipe at him. Then he bolts back into the darkness. 

Øystein swears, stumbling in the dark after him. Ahead, he can see a shadow flickering through the trees. But then he’s gone. Øystein stops. He’s not sure if he’s in the spot he’d found Pelle at before, it’s too difficult to recognise in the darkness. 

Then a stick snaps behind him and he half turns before something solid and giggling collides with him. Øystein gasps as all the air is knocked out of his lungs. At least the ground is soft when he hits it. It’s wet too, soaking through the knees of his jeans and the sleeves of this jacket where he’d gone down heavily on his forearms. 

‘Fucker,’ he says, squirming where Pelle’s laughing, laying heavy on his back.

‘Perhaps you’re my puppy instead, huh?’ he says, voice rasping softly. Øystein can feel his hot breathing against his cheek as he slips a hand around his waist, pressing it to the front of his jeans. Øystein catches his wrist. He’s a little shocked. He can count on one hand the number of times Pelle has started this kind of game. It’s usually Øystein shoving his head down between his thighs when he gets bored of Pelle’s clumsy kisses. 

‘Fuck off,’ he says, breathless, for something to say. He doesn’t actually want him to stop, doesn’t actually want him to go. Pelle lets out a soft laugh, nipping at his ear through his hair. Øystein snorts, loosening his grip on his wrist. Pelle squeezes him, hard. Too hard. Øystein grunts, back arching into him away from the discomfort. 

‘Not so fucking rough,’ he says. Pelle hums into his hair starting to stroke through the denim of his jeans instead of grabbing. Øystein can feel heat start to steal into his blood, though the ground underneath him is still cold and damp. It’s starting to matter less and less, as he gets lost in the heat and the rough pressure. 

There’s pressure against his back too. Pelle’s hugging him, pressing into him, hips against his hips, chin on his shoulder. Øystein can feel his hair on his face, mixing and muddling with his own. There’s a smell to it, earthy and weirdly sweet. Like rot. 

Pelle’s hand on the waistband of his jeans, easing open the buttons on his fly. That’s a shock too. _He wants to fuck?_ In the middle of the night, out here in the fucking woods? Rutting like a pair of animals in the dirt. 

But Øystein doesn’t stop him, biting his lip as he feels Pelle’s hand slipping into his underwear. He’s hot, and he’s afraid, and half-wild from Pelle’s hands and mouth and teeth on his skin. 

He can hear Pelle panting as he touches his cock, not really stroking, just feeling the texture of his skin. It’s exciting and infuriating. He shudders. He shifts his weight, so he can slide a hand down over Pelle’s to get him to jerk him off properly. He can feel the mulch of leaves and soil wetting all up his forearm as his own and Pelle’s weight pushes him further into the mud. 

‘I want to-’ Pelle says, he’s breathless, ‘inside, y’know, I want-’ 

‘Yeah,’ Øystein says, ‘ _fuck_ , do it.’ 

He lets go of Pelle’s hand to help him fumble his jeans and underwear down his thighs. Øystein pants through his teeth, the cold raw and shocking on his skin. But it hardly matters because Pelle’s skin is already pressing against his, warming it. He can feel his cock too, hot against the back of his thigh. He listens as Pelle spits on his hand, then feels him smearing the saliva around his hole before pushing a finger in. Øystein hisses, gripping Pelle’s thigh, trying to breathe through the stretch. 

Pelle whines softly. Øystein can feel his heavy, excited breathing against his cheek. He can feel his cock pulsing and wants Pelle to put his hand back on it. Pelle adds another slick finger. Øystein bites his lip. He can feel his skin flushing — he wants it. 

‘ _Pelle_ ,’ he says, fingertips digging into his thigh. 

‘Ah, sure, sure,’ Pelle says softly, removing his hand. Øystein takes a breath as he feels the head of his dick pressing against his hole instead. It hurts but he still wants it, keeping his hand clamped tight around Pelle’s thigh until his cock pressed up all the way against him. Inside him. Pressed so deeply inside Pelle’s breathing feels like his own breath. 

Øystein exhales, softening his hold on the other’s thigh, as he starts to move, thrusting slowly. Pelle's got a hand bunched up in his jacket and the other on his stomach, pulling him back into him. Øystein exhales. He can feel his body clenching from the new position, thighs starting to tremble. He relaxes back into Pelle. He’s moving faster now, rougher. Øystein can hear him grunting low in his chest as he fucks into him. His hands are bruisingly tight on his ribs. Øystein throws his head back moaning. _Fuck._ It’s good. It’s too fucking good. He got both hands sunk in the mud now, pushing back, giving Pelle as much as he’s giving him. 

‘Shit,’ he grunts. Pelle groans, knotting a hand into his hair. Øystein lets his eyes roll back in his head, feeling the burn across the scalp as Pelle pulls. He groans deep in his chest, feeling his body clenching in response. He can hear Pelle moaning, his breath rasping, heavy with need.

Then Pelle’s fumbling at his waist, fitting a hand around his cock and starting to jerk him off clumsily. Øystein shudders, feeling his skin flushing with his gut twisted tight with heat. He’s shaking, struggling to keep himself up on all fours. It feels like electric shocks are rippling down his thighs and up his spine as his gut twists tighter and tighter. Pelle’s pulling his hair, pulling his head back, but the sting is only heightening the contrast of the pleasure. 

Øystein feels the orgasm unfurling beneath his skin; blooming, flowing, expanding until his senses are nothing but a cacophony roaring and burning white light. He comes. He can feel it hot on his skin, sticky on Pelle’s hand. He gasps and squirms, oversensitive. Pelle hums against his hair, hugging him around the waist. 

Øystein lets him hold him, still blurred from the orgasm. Pelle’s giving short, rough thrusts. Slow but deep, and Øystein’s just about to start whining from the discomfort when he goes still, letting out a gushing breath. For a moment there’s nothing but their breathing and the distant sighing of the woods around them. 

Then Pelle shifts and pulls out of his body. Øystein somehow staggers to his feet. He can feel Pelle’s come running down his thigh. It's a shock in a weird kind of way. He pulls at his clothes, pulling them back into place and buttoning his jeans. There’s mud on his hands and Øystein can feel where he’s sweated through the armpits of his t-shirt under his jacket. He’s still flushed and his hair knotted where Pelle had pulled at it. He knows he looks a fucking mess. Knows Jørn will notice. Maybe not say anything but notice for sure. Øystein can’t find it in himself to care all that much. 

‘Øystein, are you alright?’ Pelle says. Øystein turns back to him; he’s not much better. His eyes are bright and glossy, and Øystein can see the living warmth on his cheeks. His hair’s tangled at the ends as well but he’s had enough sense to fix his clothes. Øystein eyes him, feeling the heat ebbing out of his blood. He’s cold, and filthy, and he’s done with Pelle. For now. 

‘Go back to the house,’ he says, keeping his voice curt and folding his arms across his chest.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Pelle asks. His voice catches slightly. It makes something ache a little in Øystein's chest, so he loosens his stance slightly. 

‘No,’ he says, huffing, ‘now, go back to the house.’ But Pelle comes to him instead, hugging him until Øystein shrugs him off. ‘C’mon, go back to the house.’ 

‘You have to come too, puppy,’ he says, mouth curving. 

‘Fuck off,’ Øystein says, snorting and giving him a little shove. ‘I’m coming, just go, Pelle, okay?’ 

‘Whatever, man,’ Pelle says, blowing him a kiss before slipping back into the darkness. Øystein watches him go. He takes a breath letting the quiet of the woods settle around him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... I do write RPF in other fandoms (as you can see) but this is mostly based on the film tbh.


End file.
